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“Outside his office?” she asks, like it’s the worst idea she’s ever heard.
She’s been spending too much time with Zé.
“I’ll come get you if I have any trouble explaining how he put a remote device on Valentina’s phone.” One that allowed him to get the information he needed to open that account and gain access to the Premier accountants. He’s lucky we’re not in Porto, where the payback would be swift and meaningful.
“What if he gets defensive and takes a swing at you or pulls a weapon?”
Let the bastard try. It’ll give me a good excuse to beat him to a pulp.
“Have you seen Bancroft? No need to worry about me. But I want you outside, guarding the door to make sure no one comes in who might help him. Can you handle that?” I ask, signaling I’m done with any more questions about how we’re going to proceed.
“Yes,” she replies, like she’s insulted.
“I won’t be long,” I mutter as the elevator doors open to a spacious reception area.
Bancroft is waiting for us with that smarmy smile. He’s much too smug for someone who needs a tailor and a gym membership.
“Rafael,” he gushes, putting out his hand, “such a pleasure to see you again.”
We’ll see if you still feel that way when I’m done with you. I take his hand firmly, and even though I’d like to break his fingers, I don’t.
“Who is this lovely young lady?” he asks, his beady eyes skimming her body in a way that makes me want to poke them out. Young lady. Tamar looks like she’s itching to cut off his dick and stuff it up his ass. Before this is over, I might let her.
“Ms. Sorin is accompanying me on the trip. She’ll wait out here while we chat.”
“My office is right through here,” he says.
I follow him into a room that’s filled with heavy wooden furniture, drenched in polish, and uninteresting artwork in dark frames. The decor is tired and outdated, like his brand.
“Asked them to set up breakfast for us, but they brought pastries.” He shakes his head. “I hope you don’t normally eat a big morning meal.”
“I don’t,” I reply, glancing at the wall with photographs of Bancroft and a variety of dignitaries. I don’t see a single family picture, anywhere. I’m not impressed with his priorities.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Black.” Like my mood.
There are no active surveillance devices in the room. We sent someone in with the cleaning company last night to sweep the place. He found an old-school recording device and disabled it.
While Bancroft’s pouring coffee, I take out my knife and inch toward him. I could slice his throat and he’d never see it coming. But that’s not much fun.
I hold the blade against his fleshy jowls.
He drops the cup and saucer, and coffee splashes everywhere.
“I strongly recommend you don’t make a sound.”
“I-I-I don’t understand,” he whispers. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t understand,” I taunt, grabbing him by the ear and shoving him into a corner.
He stumbles back, but there’s nowhere to go. He can’t escape my wrath.
“Let me explain, Scottie.” I squeeze his neck with one hand, the heel pressed into his windpipe, and hold my knife in the other. “We traced a bank account in Valentina Cruz’s name to you.”
“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bullshit.
